


And In the Distant Past

by Quitebrilliantindeed



Category: Journey into Mystery
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quitebrilliantindeed/pseuds/Quitebrilliantindeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She could theoretically survive here with ease. Theoretically. Post-JiM 645 (Gillen's finale.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And In the Distant Past

**Author's Note:**

> The beginnings of this fic were actually written on a piece of work-paper not too long after 645 came out. I later expanded it, and more recently, I cleaned it up and posted it here. Hope you enjoy having a little bit of your heart ripped out again...?

When Leah next opened her eyes, the sun was nearly gone from the sky.

Her hands grasped vainly out at the air, searching for something she could tear her hands into. Something she could rip apart.  _Anything._

She wanted to scream.

Oh, but she wanted many things. No—she was better than that, was she not?

So instead she settled for a pitiful whimper as she sunk.

Then silence.

Aching silence.

She opened her eyes again. She found herself still in a grey and dying red world of towering forest and rocky outcroppings that melted endlessly into the earth. Not a single timbre or cry came from any direction, only the hollow whistle and gentle trickle of wind and water.

At least he had given her water.

She shook her head to clear it of his image. It wouldn’t help her now. The searing fire in her stomach would not and could not be quenched by any means here.

Practicality. That was the first step now. All else would be second to that golden rule. There was water, stone and caves for shelter, and no beasts to snarl and snap at her toes. A tree nearby even bore pears— she could theoretically survive here with ease.  _Theoretically._

She rocked back onto the balls of her bare feet, fingers in the folds of her dress and eyes unfocused on something unnamable in the distance. Something that tasted like hatred and betrayal. Vile people, vile things—all making her into a sniveling child. (A voice tells her that she is indeed a child. She ignores it.) Her nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed, she curled in tighter.

Her first instinct was to curse Loki’s name. She could still feel her words fading as her world vanished beneath her, she could hear him say it:

_“Leah needs to be sent away,”_

_“Leah needs to be sent away,”_

_“Leah needs to be—“_

He was never worth her time, she decided. And she began to take every second of time they spent together, and twist it, because he was always playing, he was always lying. None of it could be honest.

She was simply a replacement anyway.

That voice chimed back in though—rage had turned her thoughts to the ridiculous, had it not?

For not once had Loki shown anything but affection, even in the teasing. Such a turn—he was simply not capable of it. Not this Loki. This one was not the one of her mistress’s stories, he had not the baggage and bitterness.

And Leah’s heart lightened a little.

Then another thought:

Perhaps her Loki had done something just as terrible, if not in the eyes of others, but only to her.

Her fingers tightened around green fabric. He had left her. Something had happened, and he wanted her away.

Away, and safe.

Safe, but  _angry._

Angry and _bitter._

She was indeed the bitter one now, but bitterness that sprung from such one-sided decisions—that was a rightful bitterness in Leah’s heart.

Oh why did her mistress ever have to agree?

The grey by now had leeched into every crevasse of the scenery and one, two, three, drops of water hit her reddened face. So she brought herself to her feet with dignity and drew up her dress, and made her way across the muddy earth, plowing forth towards the cave until she was dark green and dripping with dirt and water. She shook the worst of it from her hands and hair, but quickly gave in and settled down. The rain is falling much harder now, steadily becoming a veil of moisture and blocking out everything from view.

Leah watched it for some time. She thought—she thought of her mistress, but remembered that Hela is capable of doing anything she wishes, and promptly ceases her worry. She thought of her home, ages and ages into the future. She wondered if she’ll ever return—if she’ll ever get there. (She must not, she thought pessimistically, for her name was never spoken of in story or scroll.) It’s only then that she realized how odd it was—that her home, a cave not unlike her newest shelter, could mean so much to her in the end. Longing for another dank hole in the earth, no different than the one she crouched in now—how silly!

(But it’s not, is it?)

Above all things, she thought of him, as it's only right, and as she could not stop herself. There are memories of milkshakes, of the Internet. Of pranks and teasing. Of smiles and laughter, of sacrifice and hardship, trust and friendship. And finally, of his accursed back fading away, hidden, just out of her reach.

There was a funny feeling growing it the deepest cavity of her chest, and she grew to become torn between cutting her thoughts short right now, and letting them run on free.

Alas, the world decided for her as the rain to dwindled into a pitter-patter, and soon to a slow stop.

Leah lifted her head from her arms with a begrudging amount of effort. The air was still misty, but she thought she could spy the pear tree through the fog.

In that moment, she made a decision. Whenever she made it home, she would ask him 'why'-- she must. It might be years, ages, even entire lifetimes before she has the chance, but she would fight to claim what is hers by right. She would make it to the future—her home—and she would ask him why. Why, if he trusted her so very much, did he do such a thing to her without warning, without even a single lie to soften (or sharpen) the blow? Why leave her grating her teeth in agony and loneliness, in the vagueness of their farewell?

She had not forgiven him. She would not forgive him, and she never will.

But she’s almost certain he feels the same way-- that he wants her to feel like that. And perhaps that’s exactly _why_ she feels the way she does.

The rain has completely stopped now. The last splotches of burgundy and orange had disappeared from the horizon, and Leah clambered to the tree from the dank reaches of her new cave. Reaching up on her child’s toes, she selected a pear from the low branches of the tree. Under-ripe as it may be, she bit into it anyway.

It was bitter.

But she was a creature of necessity.

She could swallow it.

Because she’ll cope.

She always does.


End file.
